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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065367">your already cold mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi'>ruffboi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flash Fic, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Modern Era, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have., this is not a modern au, this is what happens long after canon's timeframe has passed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:49:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first thing he remembers is darkness, and cold, and fear. He opens his eyes and is met with the tops of trees, the faint twinkle of stars in the night-black sky.  There's no moon in the sky, and there's the solid cold of ice under his back. He's afraid, breath coming shakily, but he doesn't for the life of him know <b>why</b>.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>It's been a long time since Geralt had let himself go to eastern Kaedwen, outside of crossing through the northernmost corner on the way to Kaer Morhen. But Yen's sent him on a nonexistent hunt just to get him in the exact last place on the continent he ever wanted to return to, and there's magic hanging over the valley with no known source.</p><p>The monster the townspeople are complaining about may not be real, but the strange guardian spirit standing before him and radiating frost and uncertainty <i>certainly</i> is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #003</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am not sorry.</p><p>Written for TWFF Week 3.  Mind the tags but I promise they're true.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's some sort of "shadow monster", according to the man Geralt talked to, that's been appearing around one of the farming communities of eastern Kaedwen, bumped up right against the mountains. Geralt's avoided this area for the last few hundred years, but hunts are more rare these days, and the mayor of this little town and the surrounding farms had said Geralt had been personally recommended to him.</p><p>Geralt can guess who recommended him, though not why she'd bother, since it isn't like going to some random part of eastern Kaedwen was going to change anything. He'll just have to make sure he's gone by the time the first frost hits if he doesn't want to spend the winter in a funk.</p><p>He's just finished gassing up his truck when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. A quick glance at the screen to check the caller ID, because he has no interest in answering a spam call, and he answers with a faint smile.</p><p>"Hope you're not in trouble, cub," he rumbles, "I'm headed to a job and I doubt Yen's willing to let me ditch it just to portal me over to Skellige."</p><p>"Ha ha," Ciri responds, her voice slightly tinny over his sub-par connection. Or maybe it's her sub-par connection - hard to say when they're both in shitty service areas. "What, I can't call my favorite dad just to chat sometimes?"</p><p>"No," Geralt responds immediately as he switches to hands-free and goes to pull back onto the two-lane road that's taking him to whatever this town is called. "That's what the yearly family reunion's for. Anyway I thought Lambert was your favorite dad this year."</p><p>"I <em> did </em> say that," Ciri admits. "I was just trying to make you jealous. Yen called to check in and said you're in Kaedwen?"</p><p>"Hmm," Geralt says. "Got a call from someone who said I came personally and specifically recommended. With a card and everything, apparently."</p><p>"Near the mountains?" Ciri asks immediately, her voice losing the teasing curious tone. "Why the fuck would she do that?"</p><p>Geralt sighs, watching the edges of civilization he'd been in give way to woods and hills. He understands Ciri's response, but it won't <em> help </em> anything. And it's not like he's going to be upset by every woody area near the mountains on Kaedwen's eastern border.</p><p>"She's just trying to help, Cir, you know that," Geralt admonishes. "Yen's always shown her love in the most obnoxious and inscrutable ways."</p><p>"I'm going to tell her you said that," Ciri says automatically. "Seriously, Dad, are you gonna be okay? I know you know how much <em> I </em>hate going back that way."</p><p>"You watched it happen, I think you can be forgiven for not wanting to relive the experience," Geralt says. "It's been long enough. I'll be fine."</p><p>"If you say so," Ciri says, and Geralt thinks she might sound dubious if her voice weren't crackling in and out. "I think I'm losing you. Call if you need to?"</p><p>"I will," Geralt promises, though he's not sure if she can hear him or not. "Love you, cub."</p><p>"Love you too, Dad," she replies, just before his phone beeps to inform him of the dropped call. Geralt shakes his head and refocuses on the road, letting the silence settle around him. It's familiar, even if it's an unpleasant reminder of the last time he was in eastern Kaedwen. He's had close to five hundred years to get used to the quiet.</p><p>He hates to admit that he never really has.</p>
<hr/><p><em> The first thing he remembers is darkness, and cold, and fear. He opens his eyes and is met with the tops of trees, the faint twinkle of stars in the night-black sky. There's no moon in the sky, and there's the solid cold of ice under his back. He's afraid, breath coming shakily, but he doesn't for the life of him know </em> <b> <em>why</em></b><em>. </em></p><p>
  <em> He pushes himself upright, getting his bare feet under him, gripping the ice better than he would expect. He's not sure how he knows what to expect, but he knows he does.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The cold is everywhere, seeped deeply into his bones before he even woke up, but it's becoming almost pleasant. Like it's part of him. He steps forward carefully, and sees curls of frost ferns creep across the already-frozen surface of the pond, and smiles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When the sun rises, every inch of the adjacent woods and nearby town are covered in beautiful swirling frost ferns, and there's the ghost of a joyful laugh in the morning air. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"We don't know if it's real or not, admittedly," the mayor is saying, as Geralt tries to pay attention instead of attempting to shake the odd feeling of deja vu that he's had ever since he entered town limits. "But things tend to be pretty uneventful here, and all the kids around here have been complaining about nightmares."</p><p>"Could just be that time of year," Geralt says.</p><p>"True," the mayor replies with a nod. "It's just... not normal. We're willing to provide free room and board while you look into it, and if there's anything to actually hunt, we'll pay you, of course. We'd... rather be safe than sorry. We've a blessed little community, frankly, and we're not used to anything like this."</p><p>Something about the way the man says that makes Geralt frown and redirect his thoughts. </p><p>"What do you mean, 'blessed'?" he asks, trying not to sound too suspicious.</p><p>"Something about the geography 'round here keeps us shielded from the worst of the winters up here," the mayor replies. "Has for as long as we've got records. We tend to be the first to get frosts and the last to get late spring snow, but our winters are mild enough to make up for it, and the kids always like the snow days."</p><p>That doesn't make sense, not that Geralt says as much. The geography of the surrounding area should, if anything, make the winters <em> worse </em> than your average, more western Kaedweni winter. And yet, they aren't.</p><p>"How far back do your town records go?"</p><p>Unfortunately for Geralt, when he gets his hands on the oldest they have, it's clear that whatever strange "blessing" this community and their farms have been granted, it goes back further than this. Back to when the community was called something else and was little more than a collection of tradesmen that served the farms in the area.</p><p>But, as he flips through all the documents, he starts seeing the shape of something else: He is the first witcher on record to ever visit this area. Even though this area should, due to its proximity to the Blue Mountains and its mild winters, be a monster hotspot.</p><p>Whether or not this purported "shadow monster" is real, there is clearly <em> something </em> going on in this town, and Yen must've thought so too, because everything else aside, there's no way she would've sent him here <em> just </em> for the misguided attempt at helping him "move on" from something that happened centuries ago.</p><p>Geralt needs more information.</p><p>He's gotten better at talking to people. It had gone downhill for a few decades after... well, <em> after </em> . But since then he's made an effort to improve his conversational skills, even if he doesn't <em> use </em> them very often. It should be enough to get a few locals to talk to him.</p><p>"You're the secretary here?" he asks the woman sitting at the little desk in the front room of the tiny building that acted as the town hall and records office. She looks up with a blush, clearly not the <em> most </em> comfortable with his presence, but polite enough not to say as much.</p><p>"Well, yes, and the town historian and notary," she says. "Can I help you, sir?"</p><p>"Looking for any information on..." Geralt trails off, trying to put words to what he's looking for. "Well," he says uncertainly. "This place. The... reasons it's so mild and seems to have been free of monsters for generations."</p><p>"Oh!" the woman seems to perk up a bit at that. "Well, that's just a blessing the mother goddess gave us. Though some folk say it was fae that blessed our woods, centuries back," she adds conspiratorially. "Since the frost always starts in the woods."</p><p>Geralt hums thoughtfully. It's not out of question that a fae had latched on to this place and blessed it, though it seems unlikely. At the very least it's a place to <em> start </em>, though, and that's what he needs right now.</p><p>"Would you be able to show me where in the woods the frost starts?" he asks.</p><p>"No, can't say I would," she says apologetically. "Never been out there myself, I was never much of an outdoorsy sort. I could ask my son, though? He's eighteen, just back from Oxenfurt on break, I know the kids all go out there in the fall to see when the first snow will fall."</p><p>"Hmm," Geralt rumbles, and nods. "I'd appreciate that."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> It's lonely, his life after waking up in the woods. The people in the town can't see or hear him, and he doesn't seem to need anything like sleep or food. He spends his first winter learning how to use the powers he seems to have been created with. Frosting over windows so they can be drawn on, dissipating slick patches on pathways to keep people from slipping, bringing soft, packable snow on days that children are longing for it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Seeing the farmers and townspeople smile because of something he did, directly or indirectly, is the most wonderful feeling in the world, even if there's a place in the back of his heart that breaks every time the smiles aren't right. He doesn't know what "right" means, when it comes to a smile, but he knows that when he sees it, everything will be better. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When the spring comes, he draws out the snow days as long as he can, reluctant to lose the smiles, but eventually they need to plow and plant, and he can't stomach the thought of hurting their chances of a good harvest. He sees flowers that turn to puffs of white and laughingly names himself after them, for his own benefit: a spirit with a white head named for a flower with a white head, and the irony of a spirit of ice and snow being named after a symbol of spring and summer is not lost on him. Frankly, that's part of the appeal. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But it's a lonely life, when he can only speak to himself. When none of the friendly chatter he directs at the townspeople he grows to know and love over the decades is acknowledged or responded to. He finds himself humming and singing and talking to himself as well as the farmers and craftsmen and children and wives, little nonsense songs at first, but as time goes on his songs grow more complex and particular. He can't help but think they would sound better with music, but he makes do. </em>
</p><p><em> His third year, he notices in the fall that a group of harpies are heading down the mountain, bee-lining towards the town. </em> <b> <em>His</em> </b> <em> town. And that could not stand. </em></p><p>
  <em> Monsters, it seems, could see him, because he stops them cold by standing in their path and bristling. He doesn't think he could do anything to them really, but something about his bared teeth (canines slightly pointed but nothing near as frightening as theirs) and flashing eyes seems to convince them that it's not worth the risk.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Afterwards, he's so wound up and worried that he peers in the windows of every house in his town, including all the farms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And if he left behind curls of frost ferns that didn't fade for a week, and dreams of safety and happiness for the inhabitants, then all the better for the people of his town. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"Do you think it was faeries?" the teenager asks as he and Geralt walk through the woods towards the spot that he swears is where the frost and snows start every year. "Or maybe a mage? Witchers live a really long time, right? Maybe you were alive when this happened, do you think a mage could've done it?"</p><p>"Probably not," Geralt says, without any other context. "Are we close?"</p><p>"Oh! Yeah, just about five minutes that way," the boy says, pointing. Geralt grunts in acknowledgement and starts stalking forward.</p><p>"Go home," he growls when the boy starts to follow him. The kid has a better self-preservation instinct than some people Geralt's known, and Geralt shakes his head. As if he was going to do some unspeakable horror when the entire town could easily be aware they're out in the woods at the same time.</p><p>He's still going through the possibilities for what could cause this baffling collection of occurrences when he steps through the trees into the clearing, and then he freezes in place.</p><p>It's been a few hundred years, longer than the town has records from, but Geralt would still know this place no matter how long it had been, or how different it looks without being coated in snow. There's the pond with a few boulders sitting at the edge of the water, that will be frozen solid enough to skate on when winter closes in. Slightly further back from the water is a shallow cave in a low hill, perfect for two or three people to catch some rest protected from the bitter cold. Geralt knows this place. He sees it in his worst dreams, and he knows exactly why Yen thought he should take a flimsy excuse for a job here.</p><p>This is where Jaskier died.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to the second chapter of the Rise of the Guardians AU no one expected or asked for! 😃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt stomps back into town as quickly as he can and finds the one motel in town, and growls at the kid behind the counter when they try to ask him if he wants a smoking or non-smoking room, shoving a key card at him with a squeak. Geralt feels a little bad - they're young enough that they're probably working weekends at the family business and it's not their fault he's in a shitty mood, but he can't quite rein in his irritation at the moment.</p><p>His cell still has shit reception, so he checks that the motel room's landline is working before pulling up his contacts and dialing the number, resigned to eating the long distance charges, if they aren't included with the promised room and board.</p><p>"Who is this?" Yen snaps when she answers the phone, and Geralt growls low even though he knows her response is justified, given it's a strange number calling her private cell.</p><p>"What the fuck, Yen?" he asks without answering her question, and he faintly hears the relieved exhalation she lets out when she hears his voice.</p><p>"<em>Geralt</em>, so nice to hear from you, too," she says archly. "How's… wherever you are at the moment?"</p><p>"You know damn well where I am, Yen," Geralt snaps. "And I'll ask again: what the <em> fuck</em>?"</p><p>She sighs, the sound crackly and unreal over the telephone, and Geralt can imagine her shoulders drooping, rubbing her temples with one hand.</p><p>"What do you want me to <em> say</em>, Geralt?" she asks quietly. "That I thought it might bring you some closure to revisit the place? I <em> do</em>, but that wasn't why I wanted to get you there. Not entirely, anyway."</p><p>"Their winters," Geralt grunts, tipping his head back to rest against the headboard. "Why me? I can do minor curse breaking, but this seems like something bigger than that. Their records only go back just shy of 400 years, and it seems like whatever's causing this was already well-established by then."</p><p>"National records go back further," Yen says patiently. "I found a mention of a particularly mild winter in one of the agricultural areas in the east that was commented upon as being unprecedented."</p><p>There's clearly something more to it, and Geralt grits his teeth against the snarl threatening to bubble up from him. "<em>Yennefer</em>. Get to the point."</p><p>"The first mention of it was the year after we lost him," she says. "He died before a brief thaw, but then there was another cold snap and it lasted longer than any other in the area, even further north, and the following winter began earlier than anywhere else, ended later, but was milder and still left enough time to harvest the crops so the area wasn't in danger of starvation." Yen sighs, and Geralt wishes briefly that she were here with him, even if their relationship had never managed to survive attempts at romance after they'd lost Jaskier. They're still friends, and of anyone left in the world who knew Jaskier, only Yen really understands what he lost when they lost Jaskier.</p><p>"It's a coincidence," Geralt says, his voice rougher than usual.</p><p>"Probably," Yen replies. "But it's just enough to make me wonder. The first frost should hit soon, just… hang around and look into it?"</p><p>Her voice is surprisingly uncertain, like she's actually <em> asking </em>him to do what she wants instead of ordering him the way she's generally done for the past few centuries. She must be shaken by the possibility, too, Geralt realizes, and hums softly.</p><p>"Fine," he says after a moment. "It's probably just some fae shit, though, nothing to do with Jaskier, and nothing to do with us."</p><p>"Probably," Yen repeats again. "But you'd never forgive me if I didn't tell you and give you a chance to find out."</p><p>"Hmm," Geralt responds. "Probably."</p><p>"Call me if you get in trouble too deep to get out of alone," she says, and then hangs up on him.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Summer means rest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dandelion - as he has definitively decided to call himself now - could stay awake and present, of course, he had done so the first couple of years, but he's hardly necessary when the warm sun hangs in the sky, the days are long, the nights short, heat rising from the sun-baked ground. He finds himself curling up in the back of a little cave, a small vortex of cold air hanging around him, tired and drained from the light and the heat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He still wakes to drive off the odd monster, but mostly he sleeps until the coolness of autumn rouses him. His power is weaker in summer, and it takes more of him to drive the monsters off, but as the years pass they seem to grow accustomed to avoiding the area entirely, and he needs to awaken less and less between the too-warm late spring that lulls him to sleep and the cool wind scented with thunder that wakes him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He can't help but bring frost to the valley when he wakes, always too early, too early, so he spreads frost ferns on the windows and pathways and tree trunks, and he pulls it back from the crops and gardens that have yet to be harvested. He watches their dismay over the frost that covers the town, certain it spells disaster for their crops, and delights in their shock and joy when they find their crops miraculously untouched. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You're welcome!" he says cheerfully, though he knows they won't hear him. (He hopes that maybe this will change things in that regard. It doesn't.) </em>
</p><p><em> He knows what he's meant to do, now. He's meant to protect them. They're </em> <b> <em>his </em> </b> <em> people in </em> <b> <em>his </em> </b> <em> town, and he will protect them to his very last breath. If he has breath. He's honestly not certain if he does or not. </em></p><p><em> (He tests this by holding his breath for as long as he can. He doesn't particularly enjoy the sensation, but once it's been ten minutes he decides that the idea he doesn't have - or at least </em> <b> <em>need </em> </b> <em> - breath is pretty much a given.) </em></p><p>
  <em> He holds on to winter as long as he can without starving them, letting the ground thaw in the fields but drawing frost on their windows every night. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When the warmth of spring proves too much for him, he goes back to the cave and curls in it to wait out the warmth of the world. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's not like he has anywhere else to be. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Geralt manages to be loosely personable to the kid behind the counter when he pokes his head in later, looking for information.</p><p>"Hey, you're a teenager, right?" …Well, 'loosely' is the operative word, unfortunately, but he's dealing with a lot of emotional upheaval, and cuts himself a little slack on Eskel's behalf, since he's not here to tell him not to judge himself for every little thing he does imperfectly.</p><p>Geralt's pretty sure Eskel got that particular tactic from Jaskier at some point, but he's never been able to bring himself to ask.</p><p>"Um," the teen - shockingly androgynous looking, for this part of the continent - chews their lip nervously. "Y— yeah?"</p><p>"When do you expect the frost to start, out in the woods?"</p><p>The kid looks confused and startled by Geralt's question, but not particularly reticent with their information.</p><p>"Um," they say again. "Well, we kinda guess? Usually happens after the first big thunderstorm, once it gets below about 65 degrees? We get a few of them like that starting right about now. Supposed to be one today, actually, so… today o-or tomorrow? Starts getting real cold at night, and that's how we know winter's coming."</p><p>Geralt nods silently and mulls over his options. It'll be drier and warmer to stay in the motel and wait until he sees signs of the first frost, of course, and there's a part of him that wants that more than he wants answers. There's no way this is connected to him or Jaskier, and it's likely to be a waste of time. But… part of him wonders. And if it usually starts after the first big thunderstorm of autumn, this might be the perfect time to actually figure out what the hell is going on in… well, whatever the fuck this town is called. Geralt honestly can't be assed to <em> care</em>.</p><p>"Thanks," he says eventually, then turns and walks out of the little lobby building and back to his truck. He'll keep the room, of course, but he'll need at least a few supplies if he's going to camp out in that stupid cave for a couple of days in hopes of figuring out what kind of magic has blessed this place.</p><p>The cave is, to Geralt's dismay, painfully familiar. It almost feels like he could look out of the mouth of it and see Roach standing in the grass, and Jaskier scrubbing himself down at the edge of the pond, trying (and failing) to get the sweat and road dust off of his skin.</p><p>He manages to choke the sensation down long enough to actually start a small fire at the mouth of the cave and clear a spot for his sleeping bag, and gets settled in for a wait just as the first fat raindrops start to fall.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> It's lonely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Waking when the ozone of thunder and the sharpness of cooling air gets harder every year, but Dandelion doesn't stop waking. He easily could, he knows this, just slip into sleep for a few decades without being at all the wiser, but… </em>
</p><p><em> But his town </em> <b> <em>needs </em> </b> <em> him. </em></p><p><em> He knows their names, their faces, so many of their secrets. He remembers their parents, grandparents, and ancestors; save, of course, for a few out-of-towners who married into one of the families, and a couple of folks who moved to the area. He </em> <b> <em>knows </em> </b> <em> them, and he can't abandon them. The thought of failure burns in his chest, like the cold actually hurts him again, like it's filing up his lungs and making it impossible to breathe. </em></p><p>
  <em> So he wakes, every year. Every so often, the children time it just right, and they're waiting when he wakes up. They can't see him, they don't even know he exists, but they're always awed by the way the frost creeps out and snow starts to flutter down from the cloudy sky. He can't do too much this early in the season without damaging crops, but he can always safely manage a little something, to keep their hope alive. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hope is the most important tool he has for getting through the winter. The children hope for an interesting school year with plenty of snow days. The adults hope for a gentle winter and a good planting season at the end of it. Dandelion hopes for a friend. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then. </em>
</p><p><em> And </em> <b> <em>then</em></b><em>! </em></p><p>
  <em> Dandelion wakes up from the autumn thunderstorm to a man camping out in his cave. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He shouldn't hope for a friend. It will always be the same: no one sees him, no one hears him, no one knows he's there. This man will turn him in to… he's not sure. But he knows that he'll be killed, if that's even possible, if this man doesn't like him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But he can't help but feel absolutely convinced, under everything else, that this man won't care if he's a monster, so long as he isn't harming anyone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He's safe. He knows it as surely as he knows this is his town to protect, and as surely as he knows the cold is his home. </em>
</p><p><em> So once he runs out to the center of the pond and spreads the season's first beautifully fragile layer of ice on the water, the ground, and the trees; once he ensures the frost never gets </em> <b> <em>quite </em> </b> <em> to the mouth of the cave, lest the man catch his death; he comes tumbling back into the little spot to examine him more, a chill breeze blowing in his wake and causing the fire to flutter. </em></p>
<hr/><p>The storm passes, and with the scent of petrichor still hanging in the air Geralt waits to see if any strange fae magic will rear its head, filling the clearing with frost and snow and spreading from there. It seems a reasonable enough expectation that whatever happens will be dramatic.</p><p>Instead, what happens surprises him by being deeply anti-climactic and game-changing all at the same time.</p><p>A bit of a cold breeze kicks up outside the cave, which Geralt would've expected, but then… there are delicate little spreads of frost on the surface of the pond, so thin they melt almost as soon as they grow, leading point by point into the middle of the pond, almost like footprints. And then the frost creeps out from the center of the pond, covering the water in a barely-there sheen that will be destroyed within minutes, coating the ground and the trees in delicate, intricate patterns, spreading out from the water and through the woods.</p><p>Geralt should move, should run to avoid being caught in the onslaught, or at least stay behind his fire, which would hopefully melt the frost before it got to him, but he stands at the mouth of the cave, metaphorically frozen in place as the magical frost advances to - possibly - <em> literally </em>freeze him in place.</p><p>But it doesn't. It creeps close to the cave, then stops and retreats, even as the rest of the frost extends past the edges of the clearing.</p><p>Strange enough on its own, but then there's a cold wind that blows into the cave, and curls around him a few times like a curious cat before dissipating, and leaving a strange cold spot at the side of the cave.</p><p>Geralt frowns at the other side of the cave, then turns to look back outside.</p><p>The frost had retreated from the cave, well short of where the warmth from the fire would've affected it. The wind had wrapped around him in an unnatural way, then retreated.</p><p>This wasn't some sort of spell or fae blessing. Whatever was causing the strange winters here was sentient.</p><p>"<em>Gods</em>, but you're handsome," a voice sighs softly behind him, and Geralt whips around sharply.</p><p>There's a man sitting in the middle of where the cold had settled in the cave, his chin resting in his hand. His skin is pale, his hair white as fresh snow just brushing the top of his ears, and his eyes are the blue of thick glacier ice in the northern mountains. Geralt gapes at him for a moment, because aside from his coloring, the man - no, the <em> spirit </em> - is strangely, <em> painfully </em>familiar.</p><p>"Jaskier," Geralt breathes out, barely daring to believe his eyes.</p><p>The spirit frowns slightly, not moving from his position. "No, it's Dandelion actually," he says casually, then abruptly sits up straight, hand dropping into his lap and eyes wide. "Wait," he says. "You… you can see me?"</p><p>Geralt nods mutely.</p><p>"You—" the spirit sounds almost pleading as he pushes himself to his feet. "You can <em>hear</em> me?"</p><p>"Yes," Geralt chokes out with some difficulty. (The thought of Jaskier going for any length of time, let alone centuries, being <em> unheard </em>is enough to nearly break his heart.)</p><p>"Well fuck me," the spirit says, seeming shocked, but he smiles slowly at Geralt. That familiar, warm, mischievous smile that Geralt had almost forgotten the cant of in his mind after so fucking long. "We have a lot to talk about, don't we?"</p><p>"Yeah," Geralt agrees, struggling to get the words out. "I think we do."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I AM HAVING FUN WITH THIS, ARE Y'ALL HAVING FUN WITH THIS??</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, this is. Not as small as I'd hoped.  Uh-oh.  There will have to be more....</p><p>One solitary point to the people all over the world who guess what movie inspired this.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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